Fifteen is about music and shopping and friends

1. Yesterday I put the kids to bed after Chinua had gone out to play music with some people in the area. When they were finally settled with the eighth glass of water and hug and prayer and bathroom jaunt, I walked out onto the rooftop and sat with my back against the wall of our house. (It is the rooftop and veranda at the same time; the rooftop of the apartments below, our veranda.)

For a while I just sat, with a book, kind of reading it, and kind of listening to the moths bonk their heads repeatedly against the bare bulb above me. Slowly a sound separated itself from the sound of the moths and their bonking heads, and floated towards me. It was unmistakably the sound of my Superstar Husband playing guitar, probably on another rooftop nearby. I sat and listened to him, from rooftop to rooftop, glad to be a part of the evening.

2. So, I already told you that Chinua was out playing music last night. Today I met up with a woman that I know from Goa and she told me that he had played a new song that he wrote for me, a song called "Weave." She said many women were tearing up at the thought of a man who was so vocal about his love for his wife and his commitment to her. It is rare, it seems, in the world these days.

One woman called out, "Lucky girl!" when he finished, and he shot back with "No, lucky me!"

I am extremely blessed to be married to this man.

3. Renee and Becca and Cat are supposed to come back from their trip to Darjeeling and Assam tomorrow.

WOOOO! Oh, how I've missed them.

4. Yesterday I choked back all my fears and thoughts of my crushing lack of ability, and scouted the nearby big town for fabric for the kids' clothes. We've been having most of their clothes made in India, and I found a tailor nearby who threw together the cutest little elastic waisted pants for Leafy a couple of weeks ago. YaYa and Kid A desperately need pants, since they won't stop growing inches each day, and so off to the cloth shops I went. I entangled myself in a few polyester and sequined booby traps before making swift getaways, before finding my jackpot in a shop staffed by a lovely woman who let me know each and every bolt of fabric that was 100% cotton. There were many. There was also a man staffing the shop who was an Indian Mark Ruffalo look-alike. His Indian twin. And I emerged triumphant! Cloth for pants and shirts and one dress. Lovely.

(PS: It may sound strange or excessive to have your clothes handmade by a tailor, but it's the way things are done here.  The other way things are done here is with large cartoon graphics on the front of extremely ugly and poorly made pop clothing, so we'll take the tailor route, thanks. Tailors here are also very affordable. I paid 430 rps for three pairs of pants for Leafy last time (about $9.00) and I was all, "Man, that was expensive."  Because I'm frugal. Chinua says I'm a cheapskate and I need to examine my priorities.  He continues to insist that clothing the children is a priority. Huh.)

5. And on that note, on the acquiring things note, may I say that my blender (known here as a mixer-grinder) that I bought in Dharamsala, works at least fifty times better than the one I had in Goa. It is like a brilliant dream of a blender, actually making the hummous creamy, the lassi frothy, the babyfood good for the toothless. I may try to find a way to get it on the train and bring it back to Goa. (PS: It cost 1000 rps less than the crap-meister we bought in Goa, the blender that believes we are asking it to tickle the spinach, rather than pureé it.)